Broken
by SpencerBrown
Summary: Quatre is having problems and is using ZERO to cope. Heero knows something is wrong, but how can he help, and if he doesn't find a way, how long can Quatre last?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the series, but the story is my own.  
  
Warnings: yaoi, lime, angst  
  
Notes: Timeline be damned! Let us just say that this happens after the final battle, but the war didn't end as it was supposed to and the ZERO system was never taken out of Sandrock. I know this messes with the perfect 24 hour story, but forgive me this once and I'll be good next time. ^_^  
  
Pairings: 3x4, 1x2 (x implied)  
  
Broken  
  
by Spencer  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Heero entered the safe-house silently, sneakered feebt not making a sound on the thinly carpeted floor. It was about 3:30 A.M., and he didn't want to wake any of the other pilots. All five of the Gundams were temporarily stationed on Earth, and for the time being their pilots were sharing quarters.  
  
A quick glance around the room revealed a thin form folded into a chair beside the window. Heero spun to face the stranger, his soldier's instincts taking over, and gritted his teeth as the movement jarred his broken arm.  
  
"Gomen, Heero." Quatre rose gracefully from the chair, dropped his blanket over the back, and crossed to the dark-haired boy's side. "It's broken." The words were more a statement of fact than a question, so Heero remained silent, slightly alarmed that his fellow pilot had seen his weakness so easily, even under cover of darkness. "May I help?" Heero knew from experience that the Arab would take silence as affirmative and shook his head in refusal.  
  
Since he had entered, the throbbing pain had actually eased considerably.  
  
'Maybe it isn't as bad as I thought.'  
  
"No. It's fine." Heero kept his tone neutral, but frowned in his usual no- nonsense manner. Quatre's concern changed to an expression of knowing bemusement as one light eyebrow disappeared beneath the feathery fringe of bangs.  
  
The pain came rushing back, full force, and Heero inhaled sharplyh. Quatre caught the startled cobalt gaze with his own piercing blue ice and Heero nodded, dumbstruck. When the shorter boy pointed to the couch Heero obeyed, wondering at his own actions. Meanwhile Quatre retrieved the well worn med-kit from the closet, placed it beside the perfect soldier, and turned on a rather small table-side lamp. At his return the pain once again receded, leaving Heero more confused than before.  
  
Luckily, the bone wasn't far out of place. The jagged ends hadn't torn any muscle or skin, but they still had to be set. With deft hands the Arab set the arm properly, but Heero did not miss the slight grimace that flashed across his friend's features as the broken edges popped back into place. He himself was surprised at how little discomfort he felt, merely a shade of the original blaze.  
  
When the arm was settled neatly in a sling, Quatre began methodically putting away the medical supplies. The silence settled thickly as Heero watched the smaller boy with searching cobalt eyes. Finally Wing's pilot tired of speculating and spoke his mind.  
  
"How do you do that?" Heero frowned down at his wounded arm, slowly flexing his fingers.  
  
"Nani?" Quatre feigned innocence, but Heero remained unmoved by the wide blue eyes. After a moment of tense silence Quatre smiled wanly.  
  
"I don't know." He locked the case and turned tired cerulean eyes away from Heero's piercing cobalt. "It's happened since childhood, really without my control. If anyone around me is hurt I just take their pain into myself. It's like reflex. Sometimes if I really concentrate I can block it, but why?" He looked questioningly into Heero's deep gaze. "If I can help someone, then it is my responsibility to do so."  
  
'.is it not?' hung thickly between them, but Heero chose the more obvious question, giving in to his growing curiosity. "What about battles?"  
  
Heero suddenly felt himself drawn closer to the gentle blond. He had always assumed that Quatre had been blessed with an easy childhood, filled with his loving family, friends, and all the comforts money could buy. This admission cast a new shadow over his perception. For the first time he entertained the notion that the blond Arab's life may not have been entirely free of pain or loneliness. Maybe Quatre had been as unhappy as the other four young pilots.  
  
"Aa. Battles are hard." Quatre twined callused fingers beneath his chin and stared out the window, drawing Heero back to the conversation. "I can't fight if I feel the death throes of each of my enemies, so I concentrate on blocking their pain even as I fight. It's . . ." He searched momentarily for a word to express his feelings, glancing out the dark window for an answer. ". . . tiring."  
  
"And us?"  
  
Quatre frowned, his distant eyes seeming to grow darker.  
  
"You're different. I can't block you." He winced slightly. "I've tried, but have never succeeded. I don't know why exactly, but you're all closer . . . connected somehow . . . like family." He sighed. "It's all right when we're fighting miles apart; distance helps dull the sensations, but when we're all together . . ." He stopped, wincing a bit as Heero adjusted his arm in the sling. "You should go to bed. The more you rest the faster your body will heal."  
  
Heero simply nodded, sensing he would hear no more of this intriguing new development tonight.  
  
He rose and walked to the hall as Quatre extinguished the lamp and returned to his chair, wrapping the blanket snugly around his delicate frame.  
  
Before Heero reached the corner he turned back, simply observing the pale form, illuminated softly by the moonlight. "Trowa?" he asked, softly.  
  
"Yes," came the soft reply. The glittering eyes did not move from the window, lit by the pale glow. "He should be back by morning."  
  
Heero nodded once more and turned to leave, but a soft voice at his back made him pause a final time.  
  
"I trust you will honor my reasons for not burdening the others with this information." The question was simple, but for some reason it made Heero uneasy. He gave a third nod, though he knew it was not seen, and continued to his bedroom.  
  
The braided Shinigami lay sprawled across the bed, glorious hair unbound and wild. A smile touched the perfect soldier's lips as he sank onto the mattress beside his lover. He doubted he would be getting much sleep tonight between his aching arm and Quatre's little confession, but who could ask for a lovelier view by which to think?  
  
* * * 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
"TROWA!" Quatre cried his beloved's name even as he doubled over in his own cockpit. Searing pain rippled through his entire body, bringing tears to his already blurry vision as he saw Heavyarms topple to the ground. Enemy suits were closing in from all sides. "I have to . . . protect him . . ." the Arab gasped, desperately sucking air into his burning lungs. "Allah . . . please . . . help me."  
  
He tried again to contact Trowa, but the connection showed only static. All the possible strategies and scenarios played themselves out in his mind, leaving only one option. In his head he quickly tallied the possible risks and necessary sacrifices. It was his only choice, he had to do it . . . but he was terrified.  
  
Another cry was forced from his bleeding lips as a doll blasted Sandrock from behind. 'This is madness! I'm not even hurt, but I can't control myself enough to protect him. I cannot be this weak!' He reached a hand to the keyboard and quickly typed out an all too familiar sequence. 'Allah, please give me strength.'  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"What happened?" Heero's stare was like ice, but somehow knowing that his anger stemmed from concern for his fellow pilots' well-being took an edge off the chill. Quatre smiled weakly up at him, clutching the blanket tighter about his thin shoulders.  
  
"The ZERO system," he replied, his voice just above a whisper.  
  
To say that Heero was disturbed was an understatement. When Sandrock had returned carrying a severely crisped Heavyarms, he, Duo, and Wufei had pulled their unconscious green-eyed companion from his cockpit and immediately carried him inside to tend his wounds. The boy was in pretty bad shape, and it was nearly fifteen minutes before Duo noticed the rather conspicuous absence of Trowa's lover. Heero had retraced their steps to the hanger, leaving Duo and Wufei in the bedroom with the injured pilot.  
  
He reached the hanger to find Sandrock's hatch open, but his pilot still inside. The Japanese boy leapt silently to the platform, finding Quatre still strapped to his seat, curled into a ball, shivering violently. He moved closer, carefully removing the straps from the shuddering body while at the same time checking for injuries, but jerked his hand back as it lightly brushed a bit of the Arab's exposed skin. Quatre was freezing! His skin felt like ice!  
  
Heero quickly pulled the small pilot from his machine, carried him back to the house, and deposited him on the couch. Finding several thick blankets in the hall closet, he returned and wrapped them all around his friend, doing his best to still the fierce tremors.  
  
After several minutes Quatre's shivering became less violent, and he was able to look up at Heero with liquid eyes. Heero had frowned when he saw the twin pools filled with fear and shame, neither an emotion he would have associated with the sunny pilot.  
  
Heero had remained consciously silent, not that he found it difficult as Duo would have, waiting for the blond to explain himself, but as the silence stretched on it became apparent he was not intending to do so.  
  
"and . . ." Heero prompted gently.  
  
Quatre took a deep shuddering breath, attempting to calm the turmoil raging within his soul. Heero was about to repeat himself when the blond finally spoke. "It was j-just--" He stopped, struggling to produce some semblance of composure. With another, slightly calmer breath he began again. "It was just like always. Trowa is always the worst . . . I can't ignore him . . . and we were fighting so close that I felt everything. When he fell . . . I-I couldn't move . . . it hurt so badly . . . but I had to . . . protect him . . ." He broke off, dejectedly, and Heero moved to sit beside him on the couch. "I . . . I was too weak . . . I couldn't protect him . . . it was the only . . . the only way." The light voice had dropped to a bare whisper, and Heero strained to make out the final words.  
  
"The ZERO?" Heero knew his curiosity was running away with him again, but instinct told him he should know as much about this shy boy as possible, and that this may be his last chance for a while.  
  
Though they had spent several weeks in each other's company during their stay in the Sank Kingdom, Heero had since realized that Quatre had shared very little of his feelings about anything other than battle. He had always been more than willing to hear out Heero's feelings and supply a truly understanding ear - something not many could supply to the five child warriors - yet he had never asked for the favor to be returned. This had not bothered or even occurred to Heero at the time, but now he was beginning to wonder.  
  
"Yes." Quatre shuddered beneath his blankets. "It's the only way I've found to block out the pain. It numbs everything." The blond shivered harder, wrapping the blankets closer about himself for protection. "It's frightening . . . but it keeps everything out."  
  
Heero finally understood. "The first time in the ZERO . . . that's what happened."  
  
"Yes." He choked on a sob, but continued. "When I built it my heart was too deeply wounded to respond to anything . . . besides my own pain, and once I was inside it . . . the ZERO blocked all my sensitivity. I couldn't feel the suffering I was causing others, so didn't really realize what I was doing. It's not an excuse, but it's what happened. I couldn't even feel it when you and Trowa . . ." He faltered, squeezing his eyes shut, lost again in the near tragedy, until he regained his shaking voice. ". . . but you saved me, Heero. You and Trowa broke down the wall of ice the ZERO system had built around my heart." He was shuddering again, and Heero wrapped one arm around the trembling shoulders.  
  
"But you've used the ZERO since then, in Sandrock."  
  
"Yes." He frowned. "I've conquered it's control, now, and can safely use it in battle." Heero raised an eyebrow. "The first time was my lapse, not the system's. It merely numbed me to the consequences of my own actions." Heero did not miss the pain or remorse flowing thick behind those words. A long stretch of silence followed, each boy remembering his own experiences with the ZERO.  
  
Finally, Quatre stood up, dropping all the blankets but one. "I should go see Trowa, now."  
  
Heero nodded, and Quatre walked quietly from the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.  
  
This mission scared him. His instinct told him how close they had come to losing two of their number, and that was not an event he was willing to accept. They had been through too much together to be lost now.  
  
Failure could not be accepted. He would fight to protect his friends at all costs.  
  
* * * 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
All five, together, at close range. Every time a Gundam was hit the pain ripped through his body, a crippling reminder that they were all there, all fighting. Duo took a double rocket blast to the back, the impact throwing Deathscythe forward, crashing along the pavement. Quatre slammed into Sandrock's controls. The handles dug into his ribs, starting deep bruises. He felt Altron's leg buckle as Wufei let out a cry of revenge, twisting to spear the attacking suit with his thermal staff. The ache of Trowa's right hand, always a problem in battle, throbbed through thin white fingers.  
  
An enemy suit crashed into Sandrock from the side, dragging them both to the ground. Quatre opened his shoulder guns and fired at close range. The suit exploded, bringing another wave of pain, even as Heero was struck by a canon blast.  
  
Quatre's entire world blazed with agony, his own mixed indistinguishably with that of his allies. Every nerve was screaming for release. His battered body curled up in the crooked seat as his mind ordered it to move, to ignore the searing fire as he always did.  
  
Over the com-link he vaguely heard Duo asking if he was all right, and knew he could not help his friends in this state.  
  
With agonizing effort, he reached one crippled hand toward the control panel, and haltingly pressed four buttons. . . . Z . . . E . . . R . . . O.  
  
The world vanished in a flash of light, and as Quatre opened his dazzled eyes the pain was gone.  
  
As another suit attacked the fallen Sandrock, he rose to renew the battle.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Five Gundams stood among the wreckage that had once been an OZ mobile suit factory.  
  
"Jeeze, Quatre. What did they do to you?" Duo whistled at the ravaged state of his friend's mobile suit and winced as the movement tugged his split lip. "Didn't you even try to dodge?"  
  
Quatre laughed sweetly, "Yes, Duo."  
  
"Let's get back to base." Heero's monotone command seemed a bit harsher than usual, but the other pilots obeyed without a word, instantly launching their machines into the pale sky.  
  
When they touched down, Heero was the first out of his Gundam. In the hanger they always seemed to line up in the numerical order of their colonies. It was merely an act of the subconscious, but they found themselves repeating it time and time again, a bit of consistency in lives devoid of such. This meant Heero was the first to shut down, with the last being Wufei. The Japanese boy grabbed Wing's zip cord and stiffly sank to the floor. It had been a long hard battle, and none of them were in particularly good shape. He set off in a light limp down the hanger as the other suits powered down. Duo was stiffly climbing down from the cockpit holding his battered ribs as Trowa and Quatre opened their hatches. He was still a long way off when the Arab jumped neatly to the floor, landing with his usual precision.  
  
Something felt very wrong and Heero quickened his pace. The blonde's movements contrasted with his Gundam's appearance too sharply, and the gray sheen Heero had witnessed to his friend's eyes during battle was unmistakable.  
  
Quatre stood quickly and gazed up to Heavyarms's cockpit, smiling easily. Suddenly, as Heero watched, too far away to do anything else, the blond stiffened, swayed on his feet, and collapsed.  
  
'Damn.' Heero broke into a run, hearing startled exclamations from Duo and Wufei. Trowa landed in front of him, meeting the metal floor without his ordinary grace, and knelt beside his fallen lover. As Heero approached, he could hear the lanky pilot's ever-subdued voice.  
  
"Quatre . . . Quatre, can you hear me? Angel . . ." Heero stopped just behind Trowa, breathless. He couldn't see any serious injuries on the blonde's thin frame, but that didn't mean anything. A thin sheen of red tinged the unusually pale lips and a mirroring smudge stained one shirt cuff. Heero scowled.  
  
"Koi . . . come back." Receiving no response, Trowa turned his emerald gaze suspiciously up to Heero. "What happened?" His voice never shifted from a soft monotone, but Heero was shocked by the force behind it.  
  
"The ZERO system." Trowa's visible eye widened slightly at that, but he turned back to the still form in his arms, masking any other reaction. He stood, lifting his koi gently, and strode from the hanger, leaving the other pilots to trail behind.  
  
* * * 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
Trowa placed a hand gently against his love's pale forehead. The Arabian's skin was still cool and clammy, attesting to the state of mild shock that hadn't lifted since he had collapsed nearly three days before.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
They had all seen Sandrock. The Gundam was practically falling apart, his metal shielding cracked and peeling away, one arm hanging in pieces, useless. He could hardly have been in worse shape had Quatre chosen to self-destruct. Knowing this, the other pilots were still stunned by their friend's condition.  
  
Though he had no visible injuries, Trowa had felt Quatre's breathing become quick and strained as he carried him to the bedroom. Settling his frighteningly light burden gently on the bed, Trowa began to carefully remove the dark vest. Duo moved to help, ignoring his own aching ribs, as Heero leaned silently against one wall and Wufei observed from the doorway. Once the vest was out of the way Trowa and Duo moved on to the light shirt, handling the blond boy like a piece of fine glass, as though he might shatter at any moment.  
  
Trowa felt his stomach turn as the shirt slid from his love's pale skin. Every inch of exposed ivory was fading to a dark purple, the deep bruises mottling the pilot's chest, shoulders, and arms. Duo scowled and Trowa caught a muttered curse from Heero's direction.  
  
They began to lower Quatre gently back to the blankets, but he immediately began to cough. Violent spasms racked the slender frame as blood appeared on the pale lips. Quatre's small form shuddered and attempted to curl in against the pain while Duo's and Trowa's arms wrapped and held him, seeking to soothe and support. As the spasms died, Quatre's broken body found solace in the warm embraces of his friend and lover.  
  
Trowa gently wiped the blood from his mouth and slid behind him on the bed, pulling the thin frame back against him. Quatre rested quietly against his lover's chest, head tucked lightly to Trowa's shoulder, as Duo carefully checked him over for injuries.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Sitting at his unconscious lover's bedside, Trowa silently ran the list again. Two ribs broken, three more cracked and all seriously bruised, a fractured collarbone, broken wrist, sprained knee, countless pulled muscles, and a concussion. Trowa sighed. It was truly a miracle that his koibito had survived this battle at all, and to have walked away so easily after . . . He still didn't know what to think.  
  
Each of the Gundam pilots had had his own . . . experience . . . with the cursed system, and each had nearly been destroyed in his own way. Luckily -- though only for the rest of them -- the Arab had been the only one allowed to follow through with the system's influence, and even he had been saved from ultimate destruction. Trowa still shuddered at his memory of his battle with Quatre in Wing ZERO. His lover's usually gentle voice had been cold, flat, and utterly devoid of emotion. Even his eyes had seemed gray and lifeless, radiating none of their beautiful warmth. It was never an expression he wanted to see again.  
  
After his own "mistake"{1} Quatre had done everything within his power to keep his friends from repeating it. He had saved Heero soon after his own recovery in a mirror-like confrontation. He had risked his life by climbing aboard the still damaged Mercurius to fight Wing ZERO, and from Heero's rather muddled account added to data reports, seemed to have nearly gotten himself killed in his determination to protect his friend. Later, after reluctantly bringing him back to the battle, the little blonde had simultaneously prevented Trowa from destroying the things he held most dear, and given him back his memories. Though the memory of being inside ZERO was not a pleasant one, Trowa was still grateful to have regained his past, for along with the pain and sacrifice, it held his family, friends, and beautiful lover. He attributed all the valuable results of this nightmare to Quatre, not the system, for it had nearly drowned him, while Quatre pulled him deftly back to the surface.  
  
Trowa was constantly amazed by his light lover's ability to give so much of himself to everyone he knew, yet never ask for anything in return. It bothered him, slightly, somewhere deep in his chest, each time his koi protested that he was fine and flashed that dazzling smile, but Quatre never seemed to tire. His endless energy and love never ran out.  
  
'Until now, when he almost kills himself with that damned system.'  
  
Trowa sighed and brushed his fingers once more through the fine blonde silk before curling in the chair beside the bed.  
  
He had never been entirely comfortable with his lover's selfless nature. When they had first met, he had assumed the blonde boy wanted something in return. He could not imagine any other reason for the beautiful boy to want to be nice to him. Trowa's childhood spent among mercenaries had taught him many things, the most important being: "trust no one". In battle, weakness was either painful or fatal, and he had grown up in a war zone. By closing himself off, Trowa had made himself invulnerable, but also untouchable.  
  
It wasn't until later, after Quatre had melted that barrier and restored hope with his own breath, that Trowa realized he had been truly lonely. He had always known the hollow ache in his chest, but only absence had given it a name. Without Quatre, the real Trowa Barton, the man who was more than just a nameless soldier, would never have existed. That was the most precious gift his angel had given him, and though he knew it could never be equaled, he had vowed to do everything within his ability to try.  
  
'But you won't let me help you. I know something's wrong, I can feel it, but you have to let me in.'  
  
'I can't do this on my own, Quatre. Please help me . . . let me help you.'  
  
He sighed and allowed his eyelids to flutter against his cheeks, but fitful thoughts followed him into slumber.  
  
'Why won't you open up to me, Quatre?'  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Worry and pain were the first things to pierce Quatre's numbing blanket of oblivion.  
  
'What happened during the battle? Is everyone all right? Why do I hurt so badly, and where am I?'  
  
Momentarily ignoring the dull ache throbbing along his entire body, Quatre forced his eyes open a tiny bit. Bluish-white fuzzy spots blended into inky shadows for a dizzying moment before ceasing their flow and settling somewhat into the moonlit chiaroscuro of familiar nighttime shapes. He was in his own bedroom on this estate, the one all five pilots had been using as a base for the past week and a half. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but it was night, and someone was asleep in a chair at his bedside.  
  
'Trowa.'  
  
He smiled, albeit weakly, at the spiky shock of hair shadowing the face of his lover. He looked so beautiful, so sweet, so perfect sitting there in the moonlight, and Quatre was suddenly very lonely. The room instantly became very large, very dark, and very suffocating, and he needed desperately to see his lover's clear eyes.  
  
He needed Trowa's warm embrace to soothe the ache in his heart, clear his head, and help him breathe.  
  
As his shallow breaths quickened the thick bandages binding his chest, as well as the sharp bursts of pain that accompanied each slight movement of damaged ribs, fueled his rising panic. He couldn't breathe, couldn't get enough air, and was quickly getting dizzy in his efforts. Pain stabbed through his chest with each frantic breath, and the throbbing fire worsened with his desperation. He wanted to cry out, desperately needed Trowa to hold him, fix him, make things all right, but his ever active, observant, analytical, and self-sacrificing mind refused to allow it. He couldn't be sure how long he had been here, but he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that Trowa had not left his side, most likely foregoing both food and sleep since the battle. He surely needed the rest, and Quatre would not allow himself to be so selfish as to wake him.  
  
Through sheer will he attempted to control the panic that was overwhelming his mind and body, but he knew it was an uphill battle and he was rapidly loosing ground. In another moment he would pass out, either from pain or lack of oxygen. In one last futile effort he attempted to sit up, but cruel knives sliced through his arms and chest, much worse than the fire in his ribs, and forced a weak cry from his lips. The pulsing darkness of unconsciousness loomed closer and he squeezed his eyes shut against the pressure, ignoring the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He knew now that his injuries must be extensive, and sent a silent prayer to Allah that he would indeed wake up to see his love again.  
  
Then Quatre felt himself lifted up, and for a moment his senses were lost to the pain that screamed from every jarred nerve. When he could finally feel again, he became aware of an arm wrapped loosely around his waist and gentle fingers stroking his hair. He could smell Trowa's shampoo, and hear the soft murmur of soothing sounds, though words were still beyond him. He was sitting upright, lying against his lover's warm chest, with his head tilted slightly back over his shoulder. He found that he could breathe again, and that the pain had indeed lessened -- though not vanished altogether -- in Trowa's loving embrace.  
  
Soon his eyelids fluttered open to reveal dulled blue depths and were met with Trowa's gently smiling profile. He felt his lover's entire body relax beneath and around him, long hours of worry and tension draining away at a single glimpse of sky blue. Trowa smiled down, tilting his head slightly to touch a gentle kiss to Quatre's pale forehead.  
  
"Welcome back, love."  
  
"T . . . rowa?" His voice came out raspy and dry, and scratched harshly across his throat.  
  
"Shhh . . ." Trowa admonished gently, brushing silky blonde bangs from tired eyes and shifting to more easily view his love. "I've missed you. We've all been worried about you, little one." He lovingly kissed the pale forehead.  
  
Quatre frowned. "I'm sorry," he rasped, but the words caught in his throat. He coughed shallowly, jarring his shattered ribs, and curled down against his lover's body, trying to shy away from the burning pain in his own. Trowa shifted forward to wrap himself more securely around the quaking body in his arms. He murmured soft assurances and stroked the baby- soft golden hair as the coughing subsided and Quatre slowly regained his breath.  
  
As Quatre's aching body relaxed, Trowa sank back against the headboard, cradling his fragile lover to his chest with the reverence bestowed a newborn. Quatre sighed as he sank back into the painless balm of sleep and pressed his lips weakly against his protector's throat.  
  
"I love you, Trowa," he murmured just before drifting off.  
  
Trowa sighed, laying his cheek against the blonde boy's forehead.  
  
"I love you too, angel."  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
{1} I liked the term and filched it from "Sweets", so I hope Lady Bast doesn't mind.  
  
* * * 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
Heero walked briskly down a hall of Quatre's estate, wiping his greasy hands on a rag from the hanger. In the absence of a mission, Heero had taken to repairing the ruined Sandrock to keep himself occupied. The white Gundam had been very nearly destroyed, and he had been working steadily for the past three days, breaking only for food, sleep, and his brief watches at Quatre's bedside.  
  
After the battle, Trowa had refused to leave his injured lover's side, but exhaustion finally forced him to eat and sleep, so Duo helped him make up a bed in Quatre's room. They always wanted one alert pilot nearby, so the other three had slipped into a routine of splitting the time Trowa slept equally among themselves. For three days the pilots held worried vigil over their friend and leader, and for three days Heero had spent the remainder of his time in the hangar. After all this time he was finally forced to admit that he was getting lonely.  
  
Since he had known them, Duo and Quatre had made it their goal to pull Wing's pilot out of his antisocial patterns and into closer friendships with the rest of the pilots. Though their methods had . . . differed, Heero admitted with a small smile that both had been extremely effective. Duo became the other half of his soul while Quatre was the friend and strength always present to fall back on in inevitable moments of weakness. At first he had been a subtle link with the other pilots -- save Duo -- providing quiet support, and assistance in Heero's own fumbling attempts to form friendly relationships. Heero had gradually grown out of that need, as had the rest of the group, but Quatre remained a close friend and their uncontested leader. Any combination of the five could work as a coherent team on their own now, but none ever forgot who it was that brought them together.  
  
Another "miracle" Duo was fond of commenting on, was the fact that Heero Yuy had finally begun to admit that weakness is the natural companion of strength, and that no one can be strong all the time. It had taken him a long time to realize it, and nearly at the cost of Quatre's life, but the necessity of weakness was one lesson the ZERO system had taught him well.  
  
Without his friends Heero would not have survived even half of this war, let alone lived through a full year and a half of it. The longer he fought beside them, the more he grew to depend on them, a circumstance he no longer feared, but actually enjoyed. If battle brought him one tiny pleasure for all the pain, it was the knowledge that his friends would be there, no matter the cost or consequences, when he needed them. He now had hope -- if not absolute faith -- that the five of them would survive through this war to see the peace they had fought so hard for.  
  
Though he was headed toward the kitchen, Heero paused by the door to the library. This was Wufei's favorite haunt of the mansion, but the usual contemplative silence was broken by quiet voices.  
  
". . . don't get it." Duo's frustrated voice was clear, ringing into the hall though his tone was soft, as befitted his location.  
  
"When Yuy returns we shall ask him. He seemed to know more about the situation than the rest of us, even Trowa." That could only be Wufei. As close as they had become, the Chinese boy still refused to refer to any one of the pilots by his first name. When he first knew him Heero had seen this as a sign of contempt, as a teacher addressing disobedient students, but he now believed otherwise. Wufei had great pride in his family, clan, and ancestors. His name was a prize to be cherished, and he was honoring each of his friends by addressing them with the honor he would show a clan leader.  
  
"Yeah, but he's been hiding out in the hangar since we got back. He won't tell me anything! Should we go find him?"  
  
"I'm right here, Duo." Both dark heads turned to his voice, each acknowledging him with a nod and slight smile, though Duo's immediately widened into a grin.  
  
"The mechanic lives!" the braided wonder crowed as Heero settled in a full chair beside him.  
  
Ignoring the exuberant idiocy, Heero turned to Wufei. "Yes, I think it's time we talked."  
  
Duo stood abruptly, his mood once again somber. I'll go check on Trowa. He'll want to know what's going on." With that he spun and strode out of the room, braid flipping behind him. The two Asian boys sat in silence, gathering their thoughts until the room was re-entered, this time by a different brunette. Heero immediately snapped to attention, locking gazes with Trowa, searching for any signs of trouble. The worry remained, and a deep sadness, but a slight expression of relief graced his features as well.  
  
"What happened?" he demanded before Wufei had a chance to voice the same question.  
  
"Quatre woke up a little while ago, and I felt comfortable leaving Duo with him for now. He agreed that I should be here for whatever it is you have to say."  
  
Heero mentally winced, this was turning into more and more of an interrogation, but accepted the fact that he had initiated this little meeting. As Trowa settled himself, Heero organized the last of his thoughts.  
  
"You know the ZERO system in Sandrock caused this." He paused, trying to word his thoughts carefully so as not to reveal too much and break his promise to Quatre. "I believe he uses the system to block the pain of battle and clear his head. He then chooses to ignore his injuries, and we all know how strong willed he is. He pushes himself past reasonable limits, and continues fighting until he collapses."  
  
"And you knew about this during the battle." Wufei's voice was not challenging, but slightly hurt. Whether he felt he should have realized this on his own or that Yuy should have told him was unclear.  
  
"Yes," Heero sighed, "but not till the end. Once we stopped fighting I got a chance to look at his eyes." Trowa inhaled sharply and Heero looked up, nodding, then turned to Wufei. "When Quatre uses the ZERO system his eyes turn a flat gray."  
  
"Gray?"  
  
"Cold," Trowa murmured, and again Heero nodded.  
  
"There's no better way to describe it, but you'll know it when you see it.  
  
"When the battle was over I saw his eyes and the shape of his Gundam and wanted to get us back to base as soon as possible. I wasn't sure what to expect this time, but it wasn't total collapse."  
  
"This time?" Wufei never was one to miss details.  
  
"He's used the system at least once since the Christmas strike, possibly more."  
  
"When?" Trowa's voice was calm, but Heero knew that inside he was shaking.  
  
"When you were burned so severely at Oberly."  
  
"Damn."  
  
"After we took care of you I found him in his Gundam, shivering. The state didn't last, but if I expected anything after this battle it was for him to be cold, and possibly in mild shock, but that was it."  
  
Wufei sighed. "And neither of you ever told the rest of us this?"  
  
Heero shook his head.  
  
"Why does he need it?" Trowa asked. "He's always fought just fine without it, why the sudden change?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"He's seemed to get hurt more frequently over the past several weeks, but I attributed it to stress. We've all been pushing ourselves to the limit since Christmas, Quatre most of all." He frowned. "I think he blames himself for the war not ending there. It's wearing on him."  
  
"If he is a liability then why is he fighting with us at all?"  
  
Silence descended on the room.  
  
Trowa looked up with an icy stare as Heero added his own disapproving glare, but Wufei immediately raised one elegant hand in defense.  
  
"Forgive me, that was poorly phrased. Please allow me to explain." His eyes closed and his hand fell back into his lap. "Winner is a strategist, quite possibly the best among us. His role is to analyze the present situation and decide what course of action is best for the team. This requires that he know each member's strengths and weaknesses, including his own, and implies that he realize, more than the rest of us, how vital each of those strengths is to our eventual success. If, for some reason, he is more likely to be injured than the rest of us, it is his duty to alter his strategy to protect himself. This is the only way we can be most effective, and ensure the greatest success with the least harm.  
  
He is our leader, and as such, it is his duty to keep himself alive until our battle is over and his skills are no longer required. If this necessitates his absence from battle, directing our movements from a distance and leaving us to accept the danger, so be it.  
  
Quatre, despite all his knowledge and abilities, refuses to do this, and continues to put the success of our missions, as well as our lives, at risk by recklessly endangering his own. He should realize this, must realize this, yet he continues to risk himself irresponsibly. His obvious skill proves he must be aware of this tactical . . . danger, which he repeats battle after battle.  
  
"He must have some valid reason to risk so much." Wufei leaned forward with folded hands until his elbows rested on his knees.  
  
"I simply wish to know what that reason is."  
  
Heero nodded, silently impressed by the Chinese boy's perception of the situation, which - to his calculating mind - was entirely accurate. Quatre was endangering himself needlessly, but he was far too good to do so without a reason.  
  
He instantly re-analyzed their previous battles, both before the fair- skinned Arab had accepted his role as leader and afterward. In each and every battle Quatre seemed to place his friends' health and safety before his own.  
  
'Maybe that's the problem,' he mused, 'his reason. He cares for us and doesn't want us to get hurt.' He shook his head. 'But he's too competent a strategist for that. Wufei's right. He's endangering all of us by risking himself, and he's too good not to realize that. He would never jeopardize our lives because of his own emotions.'  
  
'I know he feels our pain. Could his actions stem from that?' He quickly gauged the possibilities, but none seemed to fit. Firstly, he could not imagine the blonde altering his plans and gambling their success simply to ease his own pain. Secondly, he was certainly not saving himself any torture by placing himself in front of a Taurus' missile aimed for Trowa.  
  
'It simply doesn't make sense.'  
  
"Heero," Wufei's calm voice interrupted his thoughts. "Any ideas?" One elegantly arched eyebrow spoke volumes, but Heero knew he could be more stubborn than any of his fellow pilots.  
  
'He knows I know something. I should tell them, but I promised Quatre I wouldn't.' He shook his head, glaring right back at Wufei. 'It doesn't seem relevant anyway. If they need to know I'll tell them then.'  
  
Wufei held his challenging gaze on Heero a moment longer, making his disapproval felt before turning to Trowa.  
  
The lanky boy was frowning, and Heero could see the confusion swirling behind his emerald eyes. He sighed and allowed his head to fall into his hands.  
  
"I don't know," he admitted quietly. "He's always been more concerned for others than for himself, but I simply accepted it as his nature." He fell silent for a long while as Heero and Wufei waited patiently. Finally he looked up, startling the other pilots with the concern now evident in his features. "Rashid once told me that . . ." he paused, trying to remember every word and intonation as accurately as possible. ". . . 'The young master does not realize his own worth.' At the time I simply took it as his expression of respect, but maybe he was being more literal than I realized."  
  
Again Heero nodded. It made sense, in a way. The Maguanac general had been fighting with Quatre for years, he would certainly know his strategic style, and once Trowa became a trusted ally, it would be in Quatre's best interest for Rashid to share any shortcomings with his master's partners. Their lives may eventually depend on such knowledge.  
  
Once again Wufei's voice broke into Heero's thoughts. "Trowa, you should sleep. We will have time to figure this out. Quatre will not be well enough to fight again for several weeks, and we cannot do more than speculate until he is able to speak with us. We can do no good by idle conjecture. When he is ready, then we will talk."  
  
Trowa nodded and headed toward his room, Wufei following not far behind, but Heero remained on the couch, still trying to piece together the puzzle he now recognized as Quatre. He had never truly realized how little he knew about the blonde pilot, this boy whom he trusted with his life. Quatre's friendly manner led people to believe they were seeing right through him, but that was as much a defense as Duo's laughter. Quatre was like a puzzle with the border complete, but the middle a shambles. Heero had no idea what was hidden beneath the angelic facade, and it bothered him.  
  
"Yes, Quatre, when you're ready, we will talk."  
  
* * * 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6  
  
Heero glared at the message glowing before him, highlighting his face in the early darkness.  
  
'Another solo mission. Damn, just what I need right now.'  
  
Wing ZERO's pilot received two types of transmissions from the scientists. The first was the usual order from Dr. J, containing the name and location of his target, minimal necessary information, and the time frame in which the mission was to be carried out. The other variety was so different Heero felt sure they came from a different author. He'd traced both sources when he'd received the first of the new type of transmissions--an ability he guessed few on Earth or the colonies possessed--but both came to his computer from the same orbiting satellite, which was supposedly secure. He had no grounds for argument, which suited him fine since he preferred this new strategist to Dr. J.  
  
The real transmissions--as Duo had gratefully dubbed them--were usually ten to twenty times as long as the others. Instead of brief instructions which left planning and strategy up to him, these contained a full battle plan, complete with alternate procedures and escape routs should things go wrong, all designed specifically for Wing ZERO's unique capabilities.  
  
Unlike Dr. J's usual orders, these transmissions seemed to place the value of the pilot above that of his machine and, even more surprising, above the immediate success of his mission. This was something Heero had never encountered in his training, and at first was loathe to trust, but after following the suggested strategies he could no longer doubt their efficiency. Whomever was creating these strategies was a genius who knew his machine better than he did, and Heero was grateful. Since the Christmas battle Oz and the White Fang had gotten wiser in their dealings with the Gundams. They were no longer underestimated. Surprise and superior skills were now the only advantages left to them. They needed all the help they could get.  
  
With a growl Heero accepted the mission. Recently more and more of the real transmissions were outlining missions in pairs or trios, a method which made sense for many reasons. With more than one pilots fighting simultaneously there was a greater chance of success, they could handle more opposition, they could complete their mission faster and more thoroughly, and if someone was hurt they wouldn't be captured, their partner could help them. Unfortunately, Dr. J's orders were either solo or of such a suicidal nature that they required all five pilots.  
  
They had received nothing but these minimalist orders for well over a week, now.  
  
'Well, there's nothing I can do. I leave in an hour.'  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Quatre frowned, staring out of his window at the lightening sky. 'Always the early riser, I guess I'm just made that way.' The resulting scowl tugged at the dark bruises climbing across his cheek and forehead, making him wince and turn from the dawn. Trowa was sleeping peacefully on the bed against the far wall and Quatre could just make out his serene features in the half-light.  
  
'Well, if I'm going to be awake I might as well use my time constructively, but I can't really do much until I know what's going on. I wonder when they're going to give my laptop back.'  
  
Several problems prevented the Arab from getting the valuable computer for himself. Firstly, he knew he would wake Trowa. Aside from politics and their current titles as both rebels and freedom fighters, all of the Gundam pilots had been trained as terrorists; there was no way he could sneak out of the room unnoticed. Then came the simple fact that he had no clue where his tiny computer was at the moment. It had been sitting innocently on his desk across the room, but after his first miserably unsuccessful attempt to claim it Wufei had taken it elsewhere. He guessed it wasn't far, but his third reason for remaining without it effectively prevented any form of search. As loathe as he was to admit it, Quatre was still completely bedridden. He could hardly move without coughing, and despite his lover's gentle caresses and reassurances, those spells were painful enough to keep him completely out of commission.  
  
Every time he felt his chest begin to tighten he would simply squeeze his eyes shut and pray for it to end as quickly as possible. Once he began coughing it took an excruciatingly long time to stop himself, and the resulting spasms sent pain shooting through his entire body. His broken ribs grated against each other with every gasping breath, simply slowing their mending process further, and every bruised muscle would lock into a stinging knot. By the time the fit was over his entire body was aching, and it didn't take much to bring these hellish episodes on.  
  
Somehow during the battle he'd managed to break one of his ribs badly enough for it to splinter and scrape the outer lining of his left lung. He could feel it like a paper-cut every time he took a breath, but knew he'd been extremely lucky. Had the jagged bone gone just a few centimeter's further, his lung would have been punctured and he would have spent these past days in the hospital rather than in the relative comfort of his own home. Duo and Wufei had wanted to take him anyway, but Trowa had argued against it and Heero's agreement sealed the decision. Trowa knew how his partner felt about hospitals, and knew what remaining there as long as the doctors would insist would have done to the blonde.  
  
'They smell so fake, like me, and I won't have doctors wasting their time, skills, and resources that should be put to use helping people more deserving.'  
  
Quatre shuddered at the thought, then immediately froze, trying to avoid another coughing spell. Breathing slowly and evenly for a few moments he was able to avert the pain, and eventually relaxed back into the pillows he was propped against.  
  
He'd lain unconscious in this bed for three days before so much as batting an eye, and it had been five since he'd first woken. 'It's been over a week since the battle and I still can't get out of bed. I can't believe I was foolish enough to do this. Trowa, Heero, Duo, Wufei, forgive me. I'm an idiot. How can I help you if I'm stuck here?  
  
'I can't plan anything until I know Oz's next moves, and I can't find anything out without my laptop.'  
  
With another sigh his eyelids fluttered closed.  
  
'Maybe I can get back to sleep. At least that's doing some good. The sooner this body heals the sooner I can return to protect you all.'  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Two hours after accepting the mission found Heero and Wing ZERO chest deep in mobile suits.  
  
The objective was simple, wipe out one of the last remaining mobile suit factories on the continent. Of course others were constantly being built, but it took much more time to create than to destroy, and for once--in this one small way--the Gundams had the advantage.  
  
Unfortunately, Heero was not in a position to appreciate that advantage at the moment. He'd made an error, a grievous one, and was paying for it as he and Wing ZERO were tossed about a large shuttle runway. He'd known the recent batch of aries suits had been completed. What he hadn't been aware of was the large number of well-trained soldiers that had arrived two days before to pilot them. He'd been expecting to attack a few guards and ended up fighting an entire regiment. Things were not looking up. He was bruised and bleeding from being slammed around the cockpit and Wing ZERO wasn't in much better shape. These pilots were new, but they knew their suits and their objective. This would not be an easy battle.  
  
'Damn J. I should have known about this. My false expectations endangered the mission.  
  
'. . . and if it had been someone else?'  
  
Wing brought his beam saber down viciously into an aries suit.  
  
'Those scientists are lucky I don't know where they're hiding.'  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Quatre moaned, tossing and turning as much as his bound torso and wrist would allow. Sweat covered his skin and soaked wispy bangs, making them cling to his forehead and eyes. His head twisted from side to side as he made small whimpering noises, aggravating his wounds, but not conscious enough to care.  
  
Slowly a gentle pressure restrained his weak movements and the sticky bangs were lifted from his eyes. The pained whimpers quieted, and finally, after long moments of carefully measured breathing, blue eyes fluttered open.  
  
"Trowa?"  
  
"Of course." The tall boy above him smiled, but as the expression of discomfort didn't leave his own ashen face he could see the concern in his lover's begin to grow. "What's wrong, little one? Are you in pain?"  
  
Quatre forced a quick smile, thinking back over his dreams and feeling the ache of his heart. It radiated out through the rest of him, a dull throbbing like he'd been beaten, only not so badly. He hardly felt it beneath the fresh pain of his own injuries, but it was there, familiar pain that was not his own. Heero was hurt. "A little. I think I was dreaming."  
  
Trowa nodded, his eyes never leaving Quatre's face.  
  
"I must have moved around too much, but I think I'm fine now." He smiled again, playing up the innocent eyes and faking a yawn.  
  
Trowa gave another nod, but didn't return the expression, moving back to his chair at the bedside to gaze at his lover.  
  
"So," Quatre started, snuggling carefully down into his cushions, "where's Heero?"  
  
"On a mission."  
  
"When should he be back?"  
  
"By tonight."  
  
The smile finally reached his eyes as he sighed a bit. 'At least that means he's not too far away, and I don't think he's hurt badly enough to need help completing his mission.'  
  
He cast a glance back at Trowa, who was still watching him.  
  
'I can find out how he's doing tonight, and maybe they'll bring my laptop back.'  
  
'Still, I shouldn't have let this happen.' He'd completely forgotten about Trowa's eyes as his expression darkened, lacking his usual strength to mask it unconsciously. 'I have to keep it from happening again. I don't care what they say, I have to know what's going on so no one else gets hurt.'  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Heero cried out as he was blindsided by one of the last remaining aries suits. It careened into him at full speed, knocking them both off to the left before crashing unceremoniously into the once smooth surface of the air-strip. Cement crumbled beneath them as they rolled, and by the time the Japanese pilot could regain his bearings he'd realized something was wrong. Sharp stinging pain was shooting up his left leg, flaring at the slightest movement. He quickly decapitated the other suit, but when he rose the change in position forced him to dig sharp teeth into his lower lip to keep from screaming.  
  
'This is definitely not good.'  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Trowa jumped as Quatre jerked upright, one hand clutching at his chest as the other went to his left leg. He only managed one shuddering breath before the coughing overtook him and racked his small frame. Trowa quickly dropped the book he'd been reading and slid behind his blond lover on the bed, supporting the shaking body with his own. His hands moved in soothing circles, attempting to calm and comfort.  
  
After what seemed an eternity the spasms finally subsided, and Quatre was left limp and trembling in his arms. Trowa hated to see his koi in so much pain. It drove him wild knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do besides sit there and hold him. He felt utterly helpless and furious at the world in general.  
  
'Why did this happen, and why don't we know? I can feel that he's hiding something, but even like this he still won't open up. What could be so terrible that he can't even tell me? Doesn't he trust me?'  
  
After several long minutes during which Trowa's mind continued down this murky path, Quatre lifted his pale, damp face to that of the taller boy who held him. As green eyes caught shady blue his worries didn't vanish, but were firmly pushed aside for the moment. He could always dwell on such things when he wasn't needed.  
  
"Trowa, can you do me a favor?" Quatre spoke evenly, every breath measured so as not to irritate his wounds.  
  
"Of course." He lifted pale, sweat-soaked bangs from the equally pallid forehead, pleasure warring with concern as Quatre leaned into his touch. "What?"  
  
Eyes fluttering back open, Quatre seemed to hesitate. "Could you . . . check Heero's status?" Trowa lifted an eyebrow in silent question and Quatre gave a poor semblance of a carefree shrug. "I'm just worried, and I know I'll be able to sleep better once I know he's all right."  
  
Trowa paused, gazing intently into his little lover's pleading eyes, and Quatre was the first to look away. Trowa nodded, accepting what he knew now to be a half-truth, and slowly disentangled himself from the blonde.  
  
"You could use my laptop." Quatre piped up helpfully, but the green-eyed boy knew his friend far too well to miss the ulterior motive behind that offer.  
  
'Ah well, we've got to give it back eventually, and I know he'll hurt himself trying to go after it again if he doesn't get it soon.'  
  
With a conceding nod Trowa left the room, coming back a few seconds later with the little gray box. Quatre's eyes gleamed strangely and he almost regretted his decision. It had only been across the wall in Wufei's room, but that little distance had been enough to keep Quatre from it. Maybe he should have waited until the blonde was capable of reaching it himself before giving in.  
  
'Too late to second guess now.'  
  
With a sigh he climbed back into the large bed, gently lifting Quatre to settle in his lap as he rested the laptop before them both. Quatre's fingers flew over the keys, and in a matter of seconds the status reports from Heero's battle were pouring down the screen. Trowa could hardly catch the figures as they flew by, bluish-green on black, and was amazed that Quatre not only seemed to be able to read this fast, but actually assimilate all the information he was receiving.  
  
As his eyes wandered in awe from the screen to his lover, Trowa noticed that one of Quatre's hands kept straying to his chest to rub absently at the cloth above his heart before returning to some task at the keyboard.  
  
'Is he in pain?' He remained silent, however, as the numbers continued to speed down the screen in a blur and quick blue eyes took it all in. Finally, with a carefully relaxed sigh, Quatre slumped against his chest and allowed a small smile to soften his features.  
  
"He's okay," he reported, since Trowa obviously hadn't followed the incoming data. "Injured, but okay." His hand rose to his chest again, and this time Trowa gently took it into one of his, caressing the smooth flesh through his light pajama top. Quatre titled his head back and looked up with curious eyes, but there was a wariness behind them, an almost-fear that tugged at Trowa's own heart while betraying nothing in his features.  
  
"Are you hurting?" he asked softly, his warm breath puffing across Quatre's upturned cheeks.  
  
Quatre smiled, the almost-fear receding at the simple concern in the other's voice. "A little, but it's not bad. May I . . ." His eyes shifted away again as he gnawed at his lower lip. "May I keep this for now . . . please?"  
  
Trowa nodded minutely. "But we reserve the right to take it back again if we deem it necessary." This time Quatre nodded, and Trowa could feel the wiry body relax even more against his own.  
  
"Thank you. I love you, Trowa."  
  
"I love you, too, little one."  
  
* * * 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7  
  
Heero grumbled as he loped down the hallway, thoroughly fed up with the crutches propped under each arm. They seriously hampered his mobility, making even the simplest movements awkward. For a boy who'd been trained for a pilot's speed, agility, and reflexes, it was akin to slow torture. Unfortunately, he'd managed to break his left leg in two places during his last mission and was now sporting a plaster cast from ankle to hip.  
  
Completing his mission after the injury was painful, but not extremely difficult. The Gundams were controlled by hands, not feet, and though he got tossed around some more, his fighting ability was not seriously compromised. It had not been his intention to go to the hospital, thinking he could simply set the bones himself and stay off the leg for a few days, but others had held quite different opinions. Duo and Wufei ambushed him the moment he emerged from his suit, taking him forcefully to the emergency room.  
  
Unlike Quatre's extensive battering, a badly broken leg could easily be explained to inquisitive staff, and it wasn't as though Heero had an identity to be traced. The Gundam pilots were no fools. The better medical care they received, the sooner and more completely they would heal, thus, the sooner they could return to battle. It also saved their own limited supplies for emergencies.  
  
So, like it or not, Heero was stuck in this heavy awkward piece of plaster, thumping his way down halls that never seemed so long.  
  
* * *  
  
*WHUMP!*  
  
Quatre pounded the hanging bag with all the pent-up frustration of the past few weeks.  
  
*THUMP!*  
  
He'd finally gained the okay from Wufei to start training again, and it felt as though he hadn't worked out in a year. His whole body seemed soft and pliant, unused muscles protesting at the slightest strain.  
  
*THWAP!*  
  
He wasn't even as flexible as he had been before his 'accident', and should have taken the time to work things out slowly, but he was in no mood to go easy on neglected limbs.  
  
*BUMP-A-THUMP-A-PUMP-A-THUMP-A-PUMP-A-THUMP . . .*  
  
Unleashing a torrent of quick blows against the red leather, he fought against his own cells, willing them to heal faster and allow him to continue as before. Maybe, if he just worked hard enough . . .  
  
Sweat rolled down his forehead, but he ignored it, pressing on even when he couldn't see. His chest and stomach were aching, and the sharp pains shooting up from his wrist threatened to make him quit, tugging at his resolve.  
  
It had taken him well over a week to finally get the coughing spells under control, but he had managed to do it, and now, when the scratching arose deep within his rib cage he simply held it down, breathing with tight regularity as he focused on the equipment before him.  
  
He knew he was weak, that his empathy made him more susceptible to pain, but he would not let that stop him. He just needed to learn how to ignore the pain and focus on the mission. He'd done it before. Maybe then he would actually be worthy of Sandrock and the title of Gundam Pilot.  
  
*THWAP!*  
  
He spun to kick the bag, tugging at muscles still tender from deep bruising. The dull ache from Heero's broken leg was still there as well. The boy refused to take any pain medication, yet would not sit still. Most of the time he was fine, but a heavy cast did not add to one's agility, and every so often Quatre would get a nasty jolt.  
  
*THWAP!*  
  
Maybe if he worked himself hard enough the pain in his leg would go away, as well as the ache throughout the rest of his body. He pushed, harder and harder, gasping for breath as his lungs rebelled against the unrehearsed activity.  
  
Maybe if he just kept fighting everything would go away.  
  
He just needed to protect them. How could he be a leader of the team if he was stuck in the safe house? Sure, he could double the other pilots up on missions, plan their escape routes, even put aside the most dangerous missions for when he was up to the task himself, but this wouldn't be enough for long. He had to be out there in the field with them. Who knew when something unexpected would happen? He had to be healthy to protect them.  
  
That's the only reason he had agreed to Wufei, Duo, and Trowa's insistence that he stay in bed. He could have been up and fighting a week ago, ignoring the pain as he always did, but he would not have been at one- hundred percent, and he couldn't trust himself with their lives until he was.  
  
*THUMP!*  
  
Finally, though, Duo had deemed him fit to be up and about. Wufei had been slower to concede, but eventually gave his grudging ascent. He was forbidden to use his wrist and was expected to avoid any and all forms of strenuous activity, but what the other pilots didn't know would - in this instance - help them. He had to get back into top shape, and pushing himself was the only way to achieve that.  
  
His arms, slowing with fatigue, leapt back into rhythm, attacking the bag with such ferocity it jumped in its supporting chains. The dull ache in his chest began to rise in intensity, sending shocks of pain out through his entire torso with each impact. Hot fire flowed up his arms and shoulders, barely healed muscles burning from overexertion.  
  
He could work harder. He could take the pain. It was for them.  
  
*PUMP-A-THUMP-A-BUMP-A-THUMP-A-PUMP-A-THUMP-A-BUMP- . . .*  
  
The pain swelled, a rising tide that threatened his resolve, but he forced it down and pounded harder. Sharp jabs of lighting flashed up his arm with each strike, screaming a warning that he didn't heed. It grew and grew, the physical pain lost in a swirling sea of emotional turmoil. Fear, anger, guilt, responsibility, determination, doubt, loathing, and love tumbled together to drown the real world, each fighting to be heard above the din.  
  
He could save them. He wasn't weak. He would not betray them as he had his father and sister. He would save them all, no matter what.  
  
Finally, the abused wrist gave out completely, and the wild force behind the swing tossed Quatre forward against the punching bag. The sudden cessation of blows allowed the heavy bag to drop and swing, throwing Quatre bodily to the floor. He twisted and caught himself on hands and knees, but the fresh jolt of pain that flared from his wrist caught him by surprise and he crumpled to the floor. He lay there, panting, his head resting on the mat below him, as the pain slowly receded from his trembling body. For a brief moment his mind and heart were still, and he relished the calm, not even noticing the tears which ran down to pool with his sweat on the floor.  
  
* * *  
  
Heero limped his way sourly toward the gym. He despised feeling so helpless, and couldn't help but sympathize with Quatre's recent frustrations. The blonde had surprised them all with his unremitting requests for freedom: from the bed, for exercise, and for his computer. The pilots were well used to their Arabian friend's bottomless reserves of patience, yet now they watched that patience run dry as day after day the blonde became more and more restless. He was still kind with them, and courteous as ever, yet the growing tension in his shoulders, and the unsettled shifting of his sea-blue eyes was enough to alert them to his mounting unease.  
  
When Quatre had finally been allowed to leave his bed, Heero had felt the relief as though it were his own, and now, feeling the same restrictions, his sense of empathy grew.  
  
As he turned down a long hallway toward the gym, Heero heard the familiar sound of fists on leather echoing down the corridor. The wild pounding sounded like Duo's erratic style, but something just didn't sit right in Heero's mind. True, Duo's fighting style was unorthodox, and rather sporadic, but he used that to gain the advantage of surprise in an actual fight. His practice routine was a bit more structured.  
  
Heero continued to limp along as the frantic pounding rose to a violent crescendo. The beats came harder and faster, nearly causing Heero to wince at their ferocity. Then, without any warning, they stopped altogether. Silence rolled down the hall like a mist, enveloping Heero in its still tendrils.  
  
He paused, straining to hear more, to discern what had happened to cause such an abrupt silence, but he could hear nothing. As the silence continued, Heero started again for the gym. It took an agonizingly long time for him to reach the entrance, shuffling along the carpet, but when he finally limped into the doorway, the sight that met his eyes was not at all what he had expected.  
  
Quatre lay panting on the floor, soaked and trembling. He was gasping, sucking in quick lungs full of air, only to choke. Coughs racked his already shaking form, expelling the air as soon as he could draw it into his lungs.  
  
Quatre showed no signs of moving from the floor, but Heero knew he was currently in no shape to help. For the moment he simply remained silent, watching as the boy's breathing gradually slowed, and the violent seizures of abused muscles calmed to a slight tremor.  
  
Finally, after the moment had stretched beyond the limits of his patience, Heero decided to make his presence known. Rather than approach the fallen figure, Heero simply cleared his throat, the small noise catching Quatre by complete surprise. The boy froze, calming his still ragged breathing immediately, and even stilling the tremors by sheer will. He rose slowly from the floor, lacking any semblance of grace, yet not betraying any pain or weakness. Having kept his eyes turned to the floor, he now raised them to meet Heero's own gaze. The slightly shimmering trails still remained across blotchy red cheeks, but Quatre's expression was completely composed. If not for the red, swollen eyes and other aftereffects completely beyond his control, Heero could have believed he'd interrupted the blonde from a business meeting.  
  
For a moment each stared at the other. Heero was at a true loss for words, not knowing where to begin, with comfort or anger. He wanted to throttle Quatre for being so foolish and risking his fragile health so recklessly, yet he understood the desire that drove his actions. To hold the fate of the world in your hands one moment, then be completely helpless the next . . . was indescribable. Heero understood the gnawing frustration all too intimately, yet that did not excuse Quatre's self-endangerment. There was more to this, though. Heero knew he lacked Quatre's confessed empathy, or even Duo's ability to read people, yet he could see more than the composed front his friend was showing him. He could see a deep writhing pain behind the calm facade of Quatre's eyes, which bound his tongue from any harsh admonishments or orders. Heero simply couldn't feed that guilt and shame and fear and . . . he didn't want to know what else.  
  
Quatre stood, still and silent, daring Wing's pilot to deliver the tirade he knew he deserved. His stance was challenging, but Heero ignored it, focusing instead on the swelling he could see around the tight bandage on Quatre's left wrist.  
  
"Come to the infirmary and I'll look at that." He gestured to the limb which Quatre held subtly against his stomach. The blonde blinked, obviously surprised, and nodded, following silently as Heero turned and headed out of the gym.  
  
As he limped down the hall, Heero's mind spun over the growing mystery that had become his friend. He agreed with Wufei. Quatre was pushing himself far beyond reasonable limits; he had been doing so for months now, if not years. Thinking back, Heero couldn't remember a time when the blonde had not been driving himself with incredible ferocity. In fact, there had been other times, when it had nearly cost him his life, when he was injured at the launch pad, yet had remained behind to fight and see Wufei and Duo to safety, when he had been stabbed by Dorothy, yet fought to destroy Libra. It was dangerous. Both times he had nearly died, and now this. If such an injury had not curbed this self destructive impulse, Heero didn't think anything he or the other pilots said could have a greater effect. The only option left in Heero's mind was to discover the cause behind this irrational behavior. Perhaps the motive might reveal a cure for the problem. Otherwise, he didn't think Quatre would survive to see the end of war.  
  
He had tried to broach the subject with Quatre before, but the blonde possessed an uncanny ability to calm his fears without divulging any information or addressing the problem at all. Heero would leave the room with the assured feeling that everything had been resolved, only to realize hours later that he knew nothing more than he had before. He wasn't sure whether this was another facet of Quatre's empathy or merely the tactics he'd been taught as the Winner heir to deal with intrusive media, but either way, the Japanese boy was growing tired of being circumvented.  
  
He'd finally come to the determination that the only way to get the information he needed was to catch Quatre at a vulnerable moment and press the issue. Heero did not like the idea of using such inconsiderate and hard-fisted tactics on his friend, but he could see no other option. Quatre had already overcome every other idea.  
  
They walked in silence, save for the rhythmic thump of Heero's crutches on the carpet, each boy lost in his own thoughts. Heero could feel Quatre walking just behind him, and when they reached the infirmary he pointed to a waiting bed. Quatre raised an eyebrow but complied without comment, easing himself onto the low bunk with a slight wince.  
  
After a moment Heero turned back around with scissors and a thick Ace bandage. He missed the slight break in Quatre's stoic expression, but there was nothing the blonde could do to hide the angry red swelling around his wrist.  
  
Without a word Heero pulled a stool over to the bed where Quatre sat, place the rolled bandage on the sheets next to his patient, and held out his hand, palm extended. For a moment Quatre looked as though he may protest, blue eyes glancing longingly toward the door, but quickly changed his mind, obediently placing his wrist in Heero's waiting grasp. He didn't make eye contact, and a quick shake of his head brought wisps of bright bangs down in a curtain to further shield his averted eyes. He knew a lecture was still coming, despite the short reprieve, and wasn't about to encourage it.  
  
Heero calmly strengthened his grip on Quatre's injured wrist, carefully snipping away the outer layer of restrictive gauze. Quatre's hand had begun to turn a throbbing dull red by now, due to the swelling and blocked circulation. Heero carefully supported the whole forearm with his own, noticing the warmth of Quatre's swollen fingertips as they brushed along his skin. He wanted to speak now, to ask what was wrong, and how he could help . . . why he pushed himself so hard and sacrificed himself so readily for the other pilots, yet refused to care for himself with the same determination . . . why, since the huge Christmas Eve battle, his smiles, though more numerous, had seemed slightly false . . . but nothing would come. As layer after layer of tight white gauze was lifted from skin just slightly less pale, the silence continued. Finally, as the last strip came free to release the tight swollen skin, Quatre breathed a quiet sigh of relief.  
  
Pausing only momentarily to dispose of the gauze, Heero began to wrap the elastic bandage tightly around the swollen wrist. Quatre's face crinkled into a grimace as the pressure was applied, but the expression of pain was immediately wiped away by a wry smile.  
  
"We have to keep pressure on the swelling." There was no need to explain, Quatre had been taught and equal amount of field medicine to his own, but the words came anyway. He felt the need to justify the pain he'd seen flit across the blonde's face. If it wasn't for Quatre, it was for himself.  
  
As he secured the end of the bandage Quatre moved to rise, but Heero quickly placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. He couldn't leave yet, he hadn't even asked any questions! Heero realized he was missing his opportunity, quite possibly his only opportunity, to find out what was causing all this pain. He couldn't let that happen.  
  
"Wait."  
  
He quickly grabbed a small towel and filled it with ice. As he walked back to the blonde, who was now looking at him with a somewhat amused expression, head cocked slightly to one side as though he were attempting to solve a puzzle, Heero folded the ice into the towel. With any luck it would begin to reduce the swelling and keep Quatre here a bit longer.  
  
This time when he opened his palm Quatre responded much more quickly, offering Heero the abused limb with a slight chuckle. Again Heero supported Quatre's forearm with his own, wrapping his fingers loosely around the blonde's upper arm near the elbow as he laid the ice pack gently over the bandage.  
  
At the sound of another chuckle Heero looked up into warm aqua eyes. The genuine happiness he saw there took him completely by surprise. This was a depth of honest emotion he had not seen in Quatre since Christmas, and he did not want to crush it with pointed questions. His resolve crumbled, and he simply offered a small wry smile in return.  
  
"Thank you, Heero."  
  
The Japanese boy sighed and shook his head, simply marveling at the boy who sat before him. With no more than a smile he had managed to obliterate the best laid plans, and Heero once again found himself at a loss for words. With all his questions and accusations dashed, he replied the only way he could.  
  
"You're welcome, Quatre."  
  
* * * 


	8. Chapter 8

Broken 8

Heero was waiting. Propped in the hangar doorway, he had positioned himself in the most strategic location to achieve his objective, but his quarry was late. He shifted impatiently, easing the weight from his still mending leg.

A year ago he would certainly have fought like this, ignoring his injury until the mission was completed, but Quatre had changed all that. By bringing the five of them together, he had taught each pilot the merits of teamwork, as well as the sacrifices. Heero felt needed now, a part of something important, so he no longer felt justified risking himself so recklessly. If he were killed, it would hurt the team, and he would not allow that.

Thus, Heero was remaining behind while the others executed the next mission. The specs required four attackers, and as Heero was in no shape to be piloting, he, Wufei, Duo, and Trowa had finally agreed to let Quatre back into battle. His wounds had healed, and their aftereffects were lessening every day, but most importantly, the fact could no longer be avoided that they needed him.

Still, before they left Heero was determined to have a word with Quatre. The blonde had been avoiding him since the mission report had come in, but he could not escape forever.

Heero straightened as Wufei turned the corner, heading for Altron. He passed quickly with a small bow which Heero returned. Duo was the next to skid around the corner at a full out sprint. "Hi, Heero!" was tossed over a shoulder as he passed.

'Down to two,' Heero thought, even as he saw his target come into view. Quatre hesitated for a split second as he caught sight of Heero, but quickly covered his misstep with a smile and confident stride. He was nearly past when Heero reached out a hand to stop him.

"Quatre, we need to talk before you leave." The blonde covered his apprehension well and smiled, almost convincingly.

"Of course, Heero. What do you need?" His head tilted slightly, the calculated image of innocence, but Heero found that the more attention he paid, the better he could read the man in front of him, and despite the disarming smile, Heero could still see the roiling unease beneath. The problem was, he had no idea why Quatre would be so afraid . . . yes, _afraid_ . . . of him.

"I need your word to something."

That was it! He could almost feel Quatre's muscles straining not to bolt for the door, but why?

"All right."

"Give me your word that you will not use ZERO, no matter what happens on this mission." Quatre blinked, then smiled, and suddenly the tension was gone.

"I promise, Heero," he said softly, bowing slightly as he did. With another gentle smile, as though they shared some wonderful secret, Quatre vanished into the hangar, and Heero was left wondering exactly what he had missed.

He was snapped from his musings by a lanky hand on his shoulder. Trowa's cool eyes held foreboding concern. "Keep a sharp eye. You'll be able to see things we can't." Heero nodded, intending to do exactly that. As Trowa entered the hangar he called behind him.

"Be careful." Trowa just smiled and continued on to Heavyarms.

* * *

Crutches clattered against the wall with unnecessary force as Heero sank with relief into the soft leather of the console chair. A loving smile spread over his features when callused fingers brushed gently over the keyboard. One quick click brought up numerous questions and challenges, layer after layer of protection, but within a minute he had satisfied them all and was free to establish communications.

The four Gundams were nearing their target when Heero finally made contact, zooming low along a mountain range, just below radar height.

"Hey, 01! How's it hanging?" Duo's face was the first to appear on the view screen.

"02, 04, you are approaching surveillance range."

"Copy, 01. Keep an eye out for anything unusual."

"Affirmative, 04."

Heero turned up the base's defense frequency, listening as bored soldiers confirmed at regular intervals the complete lack of outside activity. A smirk plucked at his lips, pitying their woeful lack of preparation. Four Gundams were knocking at their gates and they were completely oblivious.

"Unidentified suits entering the northwest quadrant."

The fledgling smile vanished as the radio leapt to life. Urgent voices crowded over one another as orders were barked and reports given. Though the din was nothing short of chaotic, a familiar phrase was clear. "A Gundam! It's a Gundam!"

"You've been spotted."

"Oh, you think?" Over the recent months Duo had started timing his more sarcastic outbursts to times when Heero was well out of reach. The Japanese pilot had to give him credit. Had Duo been nearby that remark would have earned a quick smack to the back of the head.

"Affirmative, 01. Keep us informed." Quatre's voice was completely focused, but Heero did not miss the slight smile lifting his features.

By now the enemies had realized they were facing not one but four of the feared Gundams and were forming their defensive strategy. Heero glared intently at the screens, but could find nothing out of the ordinary. He watched as Deathscythe and Sandrock dove immediately into the fray, drawing heavy fire and allowing the other Gundams to split to their respective targets.

Wufei split directly south toward the power plant, blasting through the narrow line of dolls and heading straight for his target. Power for the entire base was supplied by eighteen massive generators. Once Altron took those out with his dragon flame it would leave only the mobile suits.

* * *

Meanwhile, Trowa and Heavyarms were marching southeast to the mobile doll factory and storage. If they could fire a few well placed missiles before all the dolls could be activated it would greatly improve their odds. This success would rely heavily upon the confusion of surprise and a healthy dose of luck, but Trowa had never found any difficulty in placing his life in the hands of capricious fates. Besides, he trusted Duo and Quatre to cause all the turmoil he could possibly need. He knew firsthand just how much trouble those two could instigate, and some humorous part of his mind felt quite sorry for the enemy.

Still, thoughts of Quatre drew him back to the task at hand, destroying the doll factory without getting himself killed in the process. He finally had something to fight for and he would be damned if a doll would take him from all that.

* * *

Quatre could hear Duo cackling as Deathscythe disappeared amid a storm of explosions and chuckled as his own twin cutlasses caused several more. It was rare to battle a force comprised entirely of mobile dolls, and Quatre was incredibly grateful for the relief. He could scarcely recall the last battle during which he had not been forced to experience painful deaths, and however small the number, every life was an excruciating loss.

Sandrock spun in a graceful flip, a maneuver truly worthy of Trowa's teaching, and landed in the middle of a pack of dolls, ignoring the concussive blasts as he ripped them to shreads.

Still, however thankful he was for the lack of manned mobile suits, Quatre found their absence equally disturbing. He had studied the base as he planned the attack and knew they possessed at least a substantial squadron of Leos. Where were they? Surely an attack by four Gundams would merit the use of every available weapon. Why were they holding back? What were they hiding? These thoughts were abruptly interrupted as Heero's face appeared on a corner of Sandrock's viewscreen.

"02 and 04." Quatre blocked a forceful punch and deflected a rocket as he listened. "05 requires immediate backup."

'Oh shit.' Quatre mentally cursed as he brought up Heero's transmission of the battlefield. Not only was Wufie massively outnumbered, he was surrounded as well. The blonde's muscles ached as he drew from Altron's first serious barrage of hits, lessening Wufei's pain.

"Go now."

Without a backward glance Deathscythe and Sandrock began sprinting to their friend's aid, only to be cut off by the previously absent Leos.

"What in the hell?" Quatre heard Duo cursing over the com as the Leos split and some sort of projectile flew straight into Deathscythe with a resounding clang. Only the split second warning gave Quatre time to deflect the second shot away from Sandrock's breastplate. Deathscythe, however, did not appear to be damaged in any way as he began a swift slaughter of the Leos. Quatre ignored the dull ache in his chest and sudden roiling nausea as he took off toward Altron. He had only gotten a few steps and had the time to say, "01, can you tell what those things were?" when a sudden blinding pain crackled through his entire body.

For an immeasurable moment he was deaf, dumb and blind, completely incapacitated by the scalding pain, but a steady voice slowly worked its way into his consciousness.

"04. 04, respond. 04! Let it go. You're not hurt. They need you."

Quatre painfully lifted his head to see Sandrock's view screen. Wufei was in trouble and Duo was not moving. White hot electricity seemed to be singing every cell of his body. He couldn't fight like this, and he couldn't seem to block it out, but there was another option. Yet, as his fingers reached for the keyboard he remembered his promise to Heero. His mind spun like a flash through every scenario, quickly adapting and discarding one idea after another, finally leaving him with only one option. Heero wasn't going to like it.

"01, send 02 after 05." Before Heero could even respond Quatre took a deep, steadying breath and concentrated on the electricity coursing through Duo's body. He pulled, straining his empathy far beyond anything he'd ever attempted before, drawing every jolt of pain meant for his braided friend. Sweat broke out on his pallid skin as his thin frame jerked with tight spasms. The blinding pain smothered all his senses, leaving him only barely conscious of Heero's orders to a remarkably recovered Duo.

The choice had been simple. Deathscythe was faster and Sandrock had the most shielding. The massive golden suit was already crouched in a defensive stance, doggedly withstanding round after round of enemy fire as Deathscythe shot to Altron's aid.

The stress was incredible, but Quatre fought the waves of darkness edging their way into his field of vision. He had to stay strong for the others. This plan would never succeed without Sandrock.

After a seeming eternity of white hot fire, Heero's sharp voice sliced into his blurring mind.

"04. 04. Respond, 04." Quatre tried valiantly to speak, look up or give any form of recognizable response, but found his entire body rigid with pain. Heero's razor-edged voice became a steady litany, wrapping itself around his abused mind and forcing the physical pain back just enough to let him breathe. "04. 04, respond . . . I know you can hear me. 05 is safe, but we need you now. 03 needs you. Let go. Come back to the fight. We can't do this without you. Come back, 04."

The monotonous string of words slowly wove their way through the pain and began to make sense. Duo had reached Wufei in time, but Trowa was in danger. He lifted his aching head to take in the battle data. Yes, the Leos surrounding Altron had been destroyed, but Heavyarms was surrounded by dolls, running low on ammunition and Deathscythe Hell and Altron were half way across the compound. His lover needed help and he needed it now. With a mental apology and promise to make it up later, Quatre slowly released the pain he was drawing from Duo. His conscience balked as Deathscythe stumbled and slumped to one knee, but the desire - no, the need - to protect Trowa was stronger, driving through the guilt to bolster his resolve. He pushed, hard, trying to construct thick walls to keep the alien emotions out . . . but he was failing.

Heero was talking at him again, saying something about Deathscythe Hell being vulnerable, but it was lost beneath the blood pounding through his ears. Quatre could feel his heart rate increasing. He could feel the pressure squeezing his chest, as though a giant rubber band were wrapped around his ribcage, growing tighter and tighter with every shallow breath. Still, he pushed, using his mind to force the pain away. If he could just block the others for long enough to reach Trowa, surely the pilot of Heavyarms could make it to Duo in time, but it just wasn't working!

He couldn't breathe, and the more strength he put into his empathic shields, the less air he got. His friends quite literally seemed to be the air he breathed.

A rather vulgar obscenity rolled clearly over Trowa's communications channel and Quatre knew he had run out of time. He was a man of his word, but promise be damned. He was not about to let his honor endanger his friends' lives. Without hesitation he typed the four condemning letters into Sandrock's console and waited for the system to boot. He took a deep steadying breath as waves of soothing numbness washed over him, providing the freedom he needed to think and act on his friends' behalf. With ZERO shielding him from his own space heart he could concentrate on what was really important, protecting the other pilots.

"04!"

After only a few steps, however, ZERO shorted out entirely and his nice protective shell crumbled around him.

"You promised."

It was like standing in the fury of a hurricane as his shelter was ripped up around him. Everything spun in a nausea inducing slow motion dance. The rage, terror and pain of every soldier on the base slammed back into the willowy frame, crushing him with their sudden weight. Each of his friends, four exceptionally strong spirits, each magnified by his close relationship, pounded atop the already unbearable strain. Quatre noted with a kind of clinical detachment that his heart might actually burst from this kind of strain, if his mind didn't abandon him first. He was also aware of Sandrock crashing forward into the dirt and of Heero speaking rather frantically in his ear. The amused thought arose that he'd never heard Heero frantic about anything before, hell must have frozen over.

The distance between himself and the battle seemed to grow and Quatre could see dark spots overtaking his vision. The soothing oblivion of unconsciousness rose up to take hold, but another pinprick of pain drew his spinning mind back to the battle. It had not come from the battlefield and Quatre's clear sea colored eyes snapped open with the unshakable knowledge that something vital had changed.

Heero was no longer talking to him, but to Duo. Deathscythe Hell's pilot was using all his strength just battling for consciousness against the violent stream of electricity flowing through his body and was completely vulnerable to the gargantuan beam cannon being leveled at him byt three of the remaining Leos. Without ZERO there was only one thing to do.

* * *

Heero identified the new energy signature a full three seconds before the computer. He knew the signs intimately, as it was a bastardized version of his own beam cannon. OZ had yet to perfect the stolen design and their beam cannon lacked the full force of Wing Zero's original model, but the blast still carried more than enough force to be deadly, even to the pilot of a Gundam.

His blood ran like ice as Heero realized where the deadly cannon was aimed. Duo was completely incapacitated by whatever new weapon was latched onto Deathscythe Hell's armor. There was no possibility of dodging the blast.

Trowa was surrounded, Wufei was trying desperately to fight his way back to the braided pilot's side, but the black suit's speed as he'd moved to aid Heavyarms had carried him too far too fast. Altron could not make it in time and Sandrock had not moved more than a few steps before collapsing back into the rubble. That had been his own doing. During Quatre's lengthy recovery Heero had installed a 'safety' program into Sandrock's computer functions surrounding the ZERO System. It was a special code that he could send, either from his own Gundam or from any secure communications link, that would override Sandrock's manual controls and automatically disconnect ZERO. Heero knew it was an underhanded trick, betraying his friendship and trust with Quatre, but he had been more concerned with the blonde's survival than the personal repercussions to follow.

Now, however, he had inadvertently murdered his lover. No one on the battlefield was close enough to help but Quatre, and he had taken the blonde pilot out of action with the punching of a single button. He had been momentarily shocked by the empath's severe reaction to the loss of ZERO, but that fierce twang of surprise and guilt had been quickly overshadowed by Duo's situation.

His friends were fighting for their lives and he was stuck here at the estate, watching it all play out through radar and video feed. Duo could be dead in a moment's time and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it! Seconds stretched into days as he watched the radiation from the beam cannon slowly increase, charging itself for the deadly blow. There were no plans, no sharp orders, no quick ideas to save the day. He was hundreds of miles away and completely helpless. As his last shred of hope fled all rational thought vanished as well, swallowed by an abyss of sheer panic. Heero had honestly never felt this particular emotion, never before having anything worthwhile to lose, and was completely unprepared to do anything but surrender. The entire world narrowed to the pained face on the screen and a single phrase ran through his mind and fell from numb lips.

"I love you, Duo."

* * *

By the time the course whisper crackled over the radio, Quatre was already pushing himself as fast as he could go. Sandrock shuddered and groaned as it slammed into Deathscythe Hell at full speed, grinding them both across the ground and just clear of the Aries' target. The huge explosion behind them, on the exact spot Deathscythe had been kneeling, sent them skidding even further, crashing over one another and finally grinding to a stop in a tangle of prone limbs.

As the blinding light faded from the sky Quatre groaned, forcing his eyes to open and focus on the screen tilted wildly below him. Every muscle and bone in his body hurt from that collision and Duo's electrified agony still ricocheted through him as he hung stiffly from his harness. He sniffed and put a hand to his nose as a drop of blood splashed on the screen. He would be paying for that high-speed maneuver later.

Deathscythe Hell was sprawled beneath him, still caught in the throes of electricity. Shaking his head sharply to clear it, Quatre scanned until he found the cause, a tiny metal box which looked remarkably like a battery, clamped onto the Gundam's chest armor. Sandrock's giant finger brushed at the speck, but it was too small for the bulky machine to dislodge.

A quick scan confirmed that Trowa still needed help, but that Wufei was guarding the two fallen pilots, so Quatre snapped open a tool compartment, grabbed gloves and a crowbar and released his harness. He fell to the slanted console on all fours, wincing as the short drop ached far more than he'd anticipated. A split second to regain his breath was all he allowed himself before smacking the hatch release and leaping down onto Deathscythe's Gundanium skin. He immediately felt the burning tingle up his feet and legs, but the main current chose the more conductive metal sheeting as its path. With a deep breath and a quick job the crowbar was lodged under the battery and the full electric current suddenly had a new path.

* * *

* * *

Notes: Huge thanks to anyone who is still reading this. I know it has been incredibly slow going, and I can't say that it's likely to speed up any time soon, but I promise to keep working on it, no matter how long it takes. This is my all time favorite project and I refuse to give up on it.

Special thanks to those of you who have reviewed any of my previous chapters. I love hearing what you think of my story and characters and they really do motivate me. Thank you so much for taking the time to write! Yours, Spencer.


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